Quick disclaimer for the entire story: I don't own any of the Inheritance Cycle. All rights and ideas and worldbuilding belong to Christopher Paolini, and I am only adding on to the world he has already created.
Also, this fic is going to be irregularly updated after the first few chapters, so fair warning that I may go a while between updates.
Enjoy!
Arya sighed and pushed her chair away from her desk. Already the night was halfway gone and she was still wading through the profusion of letters related to the political and economical status of Du Weldenvarden. She'd had no idea that, by agreeing to rule her people, she'd consented to death by paperwork. But, there she was.
Most of the parchment cluttering her workspace was related to the rulership of her people: ever since marching on the Empire, the älfaykin had begun the slow process of reconnecting with the other races, and that meant work and letters and approvals for their queen to write. The remaining, however, were things of a more serious nature: letters from Orik and Nasuada concerning the state of their realms, reports from her ambassadors to the other kingdoms, and a precious few letters from Eragon and the new Riders.
Five years had passed since Galbaltorix fell, but to Arya the time seemed both negligible and an eternity. It had been so long since she had spoken with Eragon or Saphira in person, since she had walked without the weight of her realm on her shoulders, but she could still taste the smoke in the throne room, hear the crunch of stone falling from the ceiling, and see Niernen shatter the light in the eye of the great black dragon. She shuddered still to think of it, curling her hands into fists to keep them from shaking.
There was a loud creaking from the direction of the main chamber, and Arya opened her eyes, gladly abandoning her work to go see her dragon.
Firnen perched at the edge of the room and snorted a greeting at her. Since the loss of the other Riders, Arya and Firnen had taken over the chambers high in a tree usually reserved for the leader of the Riders. Since the one bearing that title would likely never return to Alagaesia, she saw no purpose for letting the chambers go to waste.
How went the hunt? She asked her partner.
Firnen made a shrugging motion with his shoulders, very odd-looking on a dragon. Well enough, he replied. Game is running nicely. He communicated an image to her of a large, healthy herd, of which he had taken two does and a young stag. Arya smiled at him over her shoulder as she crossed the room.
And how goes your battle? He inquired dryly, indicating the door to her study with a nod. Arya rolled her eyes expressively in response.
Miserable as ever, dearest. I sometimes wish I was still only ferrying dragon eggs. At least there, I could punch things which attacked me. Arya reached the shelves built into the opposite wall and opened a cabinet containing late-night snacks. Actually, she continued as she reached in, you just rescued me. I told myself I would work until you returned, so now I'll do no more until I've rested.
I'm glad, Firnen commented. I wouldn't want you to work yourself to death, not when we have a Rider and Dragon to train.
Arya sighed, looking back in the direction of her study. Yes. And I fear we are going to have to speed their training yet again. Things in Alagaesia are not as they should be.
Even if they are not, Firnen answered, they will wait until morning.
Arya fervently hoped he was right.